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She was, important to her, yes, but not in the sense that the other might realize. It was drilled into her head, more less violently, that she should avoid the past. It would help diminish any hope that those who loved her mirrored appearance and not just that, but any questions of memories that may or may not of been her own. "You are," Arie mumbled, eyes flickering to look anywhere else than the woman who looked at her as if she held the key for not world peace, but a peace of mind for the woman herself. WHY HAD THEY SENT HER HERE OF ALL PLACES? The only answer that registered in her mind was unfathomable. It only followed with another that seemed less but still concerning never the less. Destroy the part of her that wasn't her, or destroy the part that was. She was able to adapt easily; she could very well become Aretha Hatzi. Was that the goal? Or the opposite... Her head swam.
Her fingers itched to type. Her legs shook with the need to flee. "Before then... All I could remember was Arie," But Aretha, it seemed, came later. "Sometimes, I think, I saw you when I dreamt but I never knew what it meant." It came out choked and true, even if she only learned later on. This was her other half, whether she willingly stole it or not. "I'm sorry I didn't remember completely."
Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck ! They were going to blame this on her if it weren't some fucked up way of telling her what she wouldn't admit. There wasn't some small possibility in the void of existence that told her this was a good thing, much less unplanned thing. "I'm not much of a joker these days," came in a serious voice, which is more or less of a lie. There were only some she was close to in a town like this, listed under her broadcast engineering job as Aretha ... something. Hatzi would've been too on the nose. It didn't matter. They weren't names she grew attached to much less cared for. Hashtag, although given by the Dead Idol, was her chosen nickname. In some ways, it was a safety blanket at the end of the day. She liked Rita though, given to her by her boss. Meow, by Ziggy, that sounded peculiarly like MOM. "You know my name." Her voice is soft. Distant almost. As if she's searching memories, no matter how pretensive it was. "You're ---... You're important to me, right?" Or rather were, once upon a time, as if she hadn't suddenly thought to pretend I DON'T REMEMBER YOU. What else could she do?
"Did we know each other before the Daniels adopted me?" Random name, but hey, she couldn't very well call herself Aretha Hatzi. Someone might notice and not keep the assumption that the woman wasn't missing or declared dead after being missing for so long. "Or the Scaredy Cat? It was probably the Scaredy Cat."
Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck ! They were going to blame this on her if it weren't some fucked up way of telling her what she wouldn't admit. There wasn't some small possibility in the void of existence that told her this was a good thing, much less unplanned thing. "I'm not much of a joker these days," came in a serious voice, which is more or less of a lie. There were only some she was close to in a town like this, listed under her broadcast engineering job as Aretha ... something. Hatzi would've been too on the nose. It didn't matter. They weren't names she grew attached to much less cared for. Hashtag, although given by the Dead Idol, was her chosen nickname. In some ways, it was a safety blanket at the end of the day. She liked Rita though, given to her by her boss. Meow, by Ziggy, that sounded peculiarly like MOM. "You know my name." Her voice is soft. Distant almost. As if she's searching memories, no matter how pretensive it was. "You're ---... You're important to me, right?" Or rather were, once upon a time, as if she hadn't suddenly thought to pretend I DON'T REMEMBER YOU. What else could she do?
"Did we know each other before the Daniels adopted me?" Random name, but hey, she couldn't very well call herself Aretha Hatzi. Someone might notice and not keep the assumption that the woman wasn't missing or declared dead after being missing for so long. "Or the Scaredy Cat? It was probably the Scaredy Cat."
ARISSA HAD FINALLY GOTTEN BACK INTO THE FULL swing of her content creation, now that some time had passed after the discovery of the missing girl's body. The hot topic of the internet seemed to pass quickly, and it didn't take long for most people, besides the ones that lived in the small town to move onto to something else grabbing their attention. Eyes were on her phone, scanning the analytics of her most recently posted video, as she brought the opening to her togo cup of caramel latte, trying not to feel any true disappointment in the lower than usual numbers. After taking a break like she had, it should have only been expected. Brown eyes flickered up from the screen momentarily to find a table she could take a seat at while finishing her beverage, gaze landing on a sight that made the food critic do a double take. The age progression images made from her missing sister were something Arissa had spent plenty of time memorizing throughout the years, even if by now she was pretty sure she was the only one in her family even taking note of the more recent ones, so much so that they started to feel like a person she would eventually see in real life. There was some kind of statistic floating around about each person in the world had a certain number of people in the world that looked similar to them. And there was also the fact that age progression wasn't a perfect science. But neither of those two thoughts were at the top of her mind as she stared at the familiar face that she was already convinced was the sister she had once been so close to. Even her voice didn't sound too different, just matured. "Is that a joke?" Arissa had always been hopeful when it came to the topic of her sister, foolishly so she had even been told once or twice, to still hold on so tightly after all these years. Maybe that was why she had this idea that the recognition of each other could be so simple. And accurate. "Aretha, it's me. I can't believe this."